The Lances of Lynwood by Charlotte Mary Yonge (read 50 shades of grey txt) 📖

receive his pay and allowance as usual, and seemed completely overlooked. It was well that Gaston’s gay temper could not easily be saddened by their circumstances, and his high spirits and constant attachment often cheered his Knight in their lonely evenings. Eustace had more than once striven to persuade him to forsake his failing fortunes; but to this the faithful Squire would never consent, vowing that he was as deeply implicated in all their accusations as Sir Eustace himself; and who would wish to engage a fellow-servant of the black cats! There were two others whom Eustace would fain believe still confided in his truth and honour, his nephew Arthur, and Lady Agnes de Clarenham; but he never saw them, and often his heart sank at the thought of the impression that the universal belief might make on the minds of both. And to add to his depression, a rumour prevailed throughout Bordeaux that the Baron of Clarenham had promised his sister’s hand to Sir Leonard Ashton.

Nearly a year had passed since Eustace had left England, and his situation continued unchanged. Perhaps the Prince regarded him with additional displeasure, since news had arrived that Sir Richard Ferrars had made application to the Duke of Lancaster to interest the King in the cause of the guardianship; for there was, at this time, a strong jealousy, in the mind of the Prince, of the mighty power and influence of John of Gaunt, which he already feared might be used to the disadvantage of his young sons.

The cause was, at length, decided, and a letter from good Father Cyril conveyed to Eustace the intelligence that the Chancellor, William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester, having given due weight to Sir Reginald’s dying words and Lady Lynwood’s testament, had pronounced Sir Eustace Lynwood the sole guardian of the person and estate of his nephew, and authorized all the arrangements he had made on his departure.

Affairs altogether began to wear a brighter aspect. The first indignation against Sir Eustace had subsided, and he was treated, in general, with indifference rather than marked scorn. The gallant old Chandos was again on better terms with the Prince, and, coming to Bordeaux, made two or three expeditions, in which Eustace volunteered to join, and gained some favourable, though slight, notice from the old Knight. Fulk Clarenham, too, having received from the Prince the government of Perigord, was seldom at court, and no active enemy appeared to be at work against him.

Agnes de Clarenham, always retiring and pensive, and seldom sought out by those who admired gayer damsels, was sitting apart in the embrasure of a window, whence, through an opening in the trees of the garden, she could catch a distant glimpse of the blue waters of the river where it joined the sea, which separated her from her native land, and from her who had ever been as a mother to her. She was so lost in thought, that she scarce heard a step approaching, till the unwelcome sound of “Fair greeting to you, Lady Agnes” caused her to look up and behold the still more unwelcome form of Sir Leonard Ashton. To escape from him was the first idea, for his clownish manners, always unpleasant to her, had become doubly so, since he had presumed upon her brother’s favour to offer to her addresses from which she saw no escape; and with a brief reply of “Thanks for your courtesy, Sir Knight,” she was about to rise and mingle with the rest of the party, when he proceeded, bluntly, “Lady Agnes, will you do me a favour?”

“I know of no favour in my power,” said she.

“Nay,” he said, “it is easily done, and it is as much to your brother as to myself. It is a letter which, methinks, Fulk would not have read out of the family, of which I may call myself one,” and he gave a sort of smirk at Agnes;—“but he writes so crabbedly, that I, for one, cannot read two lines,—and I would not willingly give it to a clerk, who might be less secret. So methought, as ‘twas the Baron’s affair, I would even bring it here, and profit by your Convent-breeding, Lady Agnes.”

Agnes took the letter, and began to read:—

 

“For the hand of the Right Noble and Worshipful Knight, Sir Leonard Ashton, at the court of my Lord the Prince of Wales, these:—

“Fair Sir, and brother-in-arms—I hereby do you to wit, that the affair whereof we spoke goes well. Both my Lord of Pembroke, and Sir John Chandos, readily undertook to move the Prince to grant the Banneret you wot of the government of the Castle, and as he hath never forgotten the love he once bore to his brother, he will the more easily be persuaded. Of the garrison we are sure, and all that is now needful is, that the one-eyed Squire, whereof you spoke to me, should receive warning before he arrives at the Castle.

“Tell him to choose his time, and manage matters so that there may be no putting to ransom. He will understand my meaning. “Greeting you well, therefore, “Fulk, Baron of Clarenham.”

 

“What means this?” exclaimed Agnes, as a tissue of treachery opened before her eyes.

“Ay, that you may say,” said Leonard, his slow brain only fixed upon Fulk’s involved sentences, and utterly unconscious of the horror expressed in her tone. “How is a man to understand what he would have me to do? Send to Le Borgne Basque at Chateau Norbelle? Is that it? Read it to me once again, Lady, for the love of the Saints. What am I to tell Le Borgne Basque? No putting to ransom, doth he say? He might be secure enough for that matter—Eustace Lynwood is little like to ransom himself.”

“But what mean you?” said Agnes, eagerly hoping that she had done her brother injustice in her first horrible thought. “Sir Eustace Lynwood, if you spake of him, is no prisoner, but is here at Bordeaux.”

“He shall not long be so,” said Leonard. “Heard you not this very noon that the Prince bestows on him the government of Chateau Norbelle on the marches of Gascony? Well, that is the matter treated of in this letter. Let me see, let me see, how was it to be? Yes, that is it! It is Le Borgne Basque who is Seneschal. Ay, true, that I know,—and ‘twas he who was to admit Clisson’s men.”

“Admit Clisson’s men!”

“Ay—‘tis one of those Castles built by the old Paladin, Renaud de Montauban, that Eustace used to talk about. I ween he did not know of this trick that will be played on himself—and all of them have, they say, certain secret passages leading through the vaults into the Castle. Le Borgne Basque knows them all, for he has served much in those parts, and Fulk placed him as Seneschal for the very purpose.”

“For the purpose of admitting Clisson’s men? Do I understand you right, Sir Knight, or do my ears play me false?”

“Yes, I speak right. Do you not see, Lady Agnes, it is the only way to free your house of this stumbling-block—this beggarly upstart Eustace—who, as long as he lives, will never acknowledge Fulk’s rights, and would bring up his nephew to the same pride.”

“And is it possible, Sir Leonard, that brother of mine, and belted Knight, should devise so foul a scheme of treachery! Oh, unsay it again! Let me believe it was my own folly that conjured up so monstrous a thought!”

“Ay, that is the way with women,” said Leonard; “they never look at the sense of the matter. Why, this Eustace, what terms should be kept with him, who has dealings with the Evil One? and—”

“I will neither hear a noble Knight maligned, nor suffer him to be betrayed,” interrupted Agnes. “I have listened to you too long, Sir Leonard Ashton, and will stain my ears no longer. I thank you, however, for having given me such warning as to enable me to traverse them.”

“What will you do?” asked Leonard, with a look of impotent anger.

“Appeal instantly to the Prince. Tell him the use that is made of his Castles, and the falsehoods told him of his most true-hearted Knight!” and Agnes, with glancing eyes, was already rising for the purpose, forgetting, in her eager indignation, all that must follow, when Leonard, muttering “What madness possessed me to tell her!” stood full before her, saying, gloomily, “Do so, Lady, if you choose to ruin your brother!” The timid girl stood appalled, as the horrible consequences of such an accusation arose before her.

That same day Eustace was summoned to the Prince’s presence.

“Sir Eustace Lynwood,” said Edward, gravely, “I hear you have served the King well beneath the banner of Sir John Chandos. Your friends have wrought with me to give you occasion to prove yourself worthy of your spurs, and I have determined to confer on you the government of my Chateau of Norbelle, on the frontier of Gascony, trusting to find you a true and faithful governor and Castellane.”

“I trust, my Lord, that you have never had occasion to deem less honourably of me,” said Eustace; and his clear open eye and brow courted rather than shunned the keen look of scrutiny that the Prince fixed upon him. His heart leapt at the hope that the time for inquiry was come, but the Prince in another moment sank his eyes again, with more, however, of the weary impatience of illness than of actual displeasure, and merely replied, “Kneel down, then, Sir Knight, and take the oaths of fidelity.”

Eustace obeyed, hardly able to suppress a sigh at the disappointment of his hopes.

“You will receive the necessary orders and supplies from Sir John Chandos, and from the Treasurer,” said Edward, in a tone that intimated the conclusion of the conference; and Eustace quitted his presence, scarce knowing whether to be rejoiced or dissatisfied.

The former, Gaston certainly was. “I have often been heartily weary of garrison duty,” said he, “but never can I be more weary of aught, than of being looked upon askance by half the men I meet. And we may sometimes hear the lark sing too, as well as the mouse squeak, Sir Eustace. I know every pass of my native county, and the herds of Languedoc shall pay toll to us.”

Sir John Chandos, as Constable of Aquitaine, gave him the requisite orders and information. The fortifications, he said, were in good condition, and the garrison already numerous; but a sum of money was allotted to him in order to increase their numbers as much as he should deem advisable, since it was not improbable that he might have to sustain a siege, as Oliver de Clisson was threatening that part of the frontier. Four days were allowed for his preparations, after which he was to depart for his government.

Eustace was well pleased with all that he heard, and returned to his lodging, where, in the evening twilight, he was deeply engaged in consultation with Gaston, on the number of followers to be raised, when a light step was heard hastily approaching, and Arthur, darting into the room, flung himself on his neck, exclaiming, “Uncle! uncle! go not to this Castle!”

“Arthur, what brings you here? What means this? No foolish frolic, no escape from punishment, I trust?” said Eustace, holding him at some little distance, and fixing his eyes on him intently.

“No, uncle, no! On the word of a true Knight’s son,” said the boy, stammering, in his eagerness, “believe me, trust me, dear uncle— and go not to this fearful Castle. It is a trap—a snare laid to be your death, by the foulest treachery!”

“Silence, Arthur!” said the Knight, sternly. “Know you not what treason you speak? Some trick has been played on